


Fantasie

by EastEnd_chan (KoroMarimo)



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Penetrative Sex, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroMarimo/pseuds/EastEnd_chan
Summary: You weren’t going to do Doctor’s dirty work for free.If he wanted a piece of it, he had to pay. You were fine with this arrangement. Whatever it took for you to retain your privileges. But it’s a sad day when after all these years, you begin to realize that you’re falling for the most manipulative asshole in Millennium.





	Fantasie

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that the soda called “Fanta” was actually made in Germany during the war? “Fanta” is short for “fantasie”, and this revelation has fucked me up inside.

He had his fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back and forth dictating the pace he wanted. It was a given that you were on your knees, but you didn’t feel the sting of the metal flooring because you’d taught yourself how to ignore it after nearly fifty years of this. Your movements were mechanical, noises kept to a minimum, gag reflex nonexistent as the Doctor shoved his cock further and further down your throat with every thrust of his hips. He doesn’t want you to fondle his testicles, rewarding you with a slap across the jaw when you reach to touch him. To say he’s in a pissed off mood is an understatement, but hey, it’s all part of the job to make those packets.

This began some time ago, after Major’s mechanical body was completed and before Schrödinger had been made. Doctor had always been distant and cranky, but sometimes with you it got to the point where his work made him downright abusive. Unfortunately he’d employed a fighter to help him, so when his face steamed red and his deadly monotone turned into a sonorous roar you matched him in ferocity, never once backing down and letting him take the upper hand. It took time, but as a human you were able to successfully roar him down and turn him into an emasculated joke. The chip only made this pissing match worse. You wanted to kill him once the vampire chip was inserted, and the night you tried to ambush him in his bed and drain him of blood was the night you’d both started the arrangement. To make sure he couldn’t incinerate you before you ate him, you made sure to crush your remote control under your boot before pinning the lanky Doctor to the cold floor. You had him underneath you, teeth scraping against his neck in a game of cat and mouse when you felt his groin contract in a single fluid motion, a bump rubbing painfully against the wool of your Wehrmacht uniform.

“You dirty old man.” You’d whispered in his ear, tongue grazing the skin of his neck and leaving a wet trail that made him groan. “Does this turn you on?”

“...ah...”

“What’s that?” you asked. “Speak up you old fuck, I can’t hear you...”

“Jawohl!”

You were a bit surprised to hear him whine like that, especially when he could only answer you as if you were a superior officer. There was an odd sort of tinge to your voice after that. No longer was it laden with bloodlust as your greatest foe lay vulnerable. Instead of hunger, you felt a tickle. The littlest sensations of heat and pleasure sneaking from your genitals and into your stomach, causing a rumble to erupt from your throat. An honest to god purr, rubbing yourself on his cock and making him squirm underneath you. Bony wrists tried to escape your grasp, but you wouldn’t let him go. You thought then, what the hell? If you couldn’t try and eat him, the least you could do was take off all your clothes, pull down his trousers and fuck him so hard he couldn’t walk for the next few days.

“Fucking pervert.” You grinned as you came to your decision.

That was then, and well, this is now. He continues ramming away at your throat, calling someone else’s name as he uses you like a sex toy. Back then, before it became routine, fucking him was mind blowing. When you approached him all contrite a week after the encounter, he’d nearly screamed the offer at you. A simple thing: let Doctor Napyeer use you (or you use him) whenever he’s horny and he’ll pay. No better than a prostitute sure, but hell, if it guarantees free, clean food in the form of blood packs and a chance to guzzle his five inch dick you’re in it to win it. He’d fuck you anywhere he wanted in the zeppelin. In the showers, in the deserted hallways, even a few times bent over the mahogany desk in the Major’s quarters when you’d both gone in to fetch something for him. Mind blowing. The only way to describe it then because it’s been so long you’ve forgotten what it was like to be rawed so good. It’s awful sex now. There’s never any foreplay and sometimes he forces himself in dry, gagging you with whatever he can get his hands on so you don’t scream.

You’re immune to it now, almost bored of the deal.

It takes Doctor Napyeer forever to come. Finally, when your mouth starts going numb, he calls out a woman’s name and mashes your face into his pubic region. You ignore the pain on the bridge of your nose, holding your breath as he blows his hot load down your throat in four deep spurts. It’s going to come back up later on when you’re alone, you know from experience that your vampiric stomach can’t hold any fluid except blood, but for now you’ve got to put on a good show.

“Open your mouth.” He commands when he pulls out.

Obediently and without the slightest hint of emotion you comply, opening wide with your tongue sticking out. Your sharp teeth and glistening tongue are clean. Perfectly so, if you might toot your own horn for a minute. His long index finger probes your mouth and swabs the fleshy inside, bringing it to his face as though he’s inspecting for dust.

“Good work.” He comments dryly.

Like an afterthought, he tosses a blood pack in your direction where it lands with a wet smack between your knees. For a long time, you don’t make a move or say a word. Instead you look at the pack, questioningly, as if it’s a cockroach skittering at your feet. Doctor could care less frankly. He wanders around his laboratory as though he’s looking for something better to do. Looking up charts, talking to himself, completely absorbed in his own little world now that his needs have been met. Really it’s like you don’t even exist once he’s done. Why you put up with it you don’t know anymore. It started off as a good deal... There’s definitely a pecking order among the vampires of the last battalion, and unfortunately you’re not very high up on the totem pole. Those lower on the rung feed after the higher, getting nothing but scraps and bone marrow and whatever else the others have managed to leave behind. You were sick of being malnourished. Sick of having to deal with the annoying voices of your higher ups commanding you to do God knows what while they fucked off to do whatever in the hell they wanted. You were tired of having to do everybody else’s dirty work, but it seemed even in this deal you couldn’t escape that no matter how hard you tried to pretend it was a good thing to do.

Why do you put up with it? Why do you sit there complacently and let yourself be degraded by a mortal man who is no more than a grizzly twig? With very little effort you could snap him in half, make him cry and beg for mercy, have him completely crushed under the sole of your boot yet you never do. Why is that?

Simple. Because sometimes, if he’s in a particularly good mood, he puts on a good show and makes it seem real.

Those are the times that he actually lays you down, tenderly, his eyes glazed over as fondness replaces the predatory nature of lust. When the Doctor looks at you like that, his breathing in short shaky puffs as he takes time to unbutton your tunic and run a calloused hand over your abdomen, it makes you feel as though you’re the only person in his world. There’s still the feeling of being a possession, but the difference is now that you’re his. You belong to no one else in the world but him.

Doctor always takes his time then, savoring you with tongue and lips just at this time, he never kisses when his needs take over and this is such a shame. He’s a very good kisser. Something sweet always lingers in his mouth that you can’t get enough of, you’re unsure what that taste is and always your long tongue is probing the slick of his saliva for more, more, always more. His tongue meets with yours, sometimes you wonder if he is sickened by the metallic coppery taste, but he always dispels that anxiety when a hand snakes it’s way into your locks of hair and cradles the occipital bone in his palm. He moans when you palm him through his pants, reciprocating his touches and letting your eyes settle closed.

There’s no tugging, or yanking, or any roughhousing of the sort when Doctor is like this. There’s only wandering hands taking sweet time in undressing, time stopping as the two of you get acquainted to each other. When he’s done, and he’s looming above you with his chest heaving and sweat glistening off the taut skin stretched over bird like bone and locks of blonde hiding his ruddy face like greasy curtains, it takes every fiber of your being to keep your mouth shut. The pupils of his eyes are dilated and his lips are chapped, face red as can be with a shimmer to the cheeks. Every time he looks at you like that, all lit up like a neon sign with afterglow, you have to stop yourself from saying you love him.

The magic is gone as soon as he gives a few more shallow thrusts, as if making absolutely sure he’d filled you up to the brim with his semen. Something snaps in him. Darkness consumes the neon glow and turns him back to the hulking, psychotic recluse that you’re familiar with. There’s no finesse as he pulls out. He grabs the nearest item, your underwear, and wipes his penis clean of fluids before tossing them vaguely in your direction. There’s always a full glass of water within reach that he guzzles down as though he’s been trapped in Death Valley, and then he’s standing and dressing quickly as though he’s done his dues for the night.

You don’t do much of anything for a while except lay there on his gurney, splayed and dripping with a mess down below and your soiled underwear sticking to your stomach. Doctor doesn’t really care for the most part, unless he’s got an appointment coming in he rarely shoos you out. The mood you felt, the love, is gone the minute he pulls out of you. Replaced with a melancholy longing that you’ll feel even as you dress with shaky legs and fingers, and long after you stumble into the shower in the soldier’s quarters you’ll still be feeling the sting of his rejection. This is the part you hate the most... Doctor won’t love you back no matter how much you want him to because to him you’re not something to fall in love with. Oh true, you tell yourself, he takes very good care of you. He keeps you well fed like a grub, and he’s always making sure your chip is working properly and that your health is impeccable, but he doesn’t really care in the way you want him to. You want the fondness he shows on a good day. Whatever he hides under that façade of a tormented genius is something you need and you need it bad. Like a junkie with his needle, you’ll let Doctor pierce you and take whatever he wants as many times as he wants. In your muddled mind you think that one day, your fantasy will be made real.

One day he’ll sneak up behind you with his lanky arms wrapping around your midsection, rubbing and kissing you as the rubbery squeak of his latex gloves run against the wool of your tunic. You’ll be in heaven then, wanting him so badly and showing him that you need it, you need him so badly because he’s been torturing you with his awful routine sex and blowjobs peppered with the pleasure he can give you. Maybe one day he’ll apologize for it. Shower you with compliments about how you’re better than his wife or girlfriend or whoever’s name that he calls out during your moments together, and maybe one day your name will leave his lips. Except it won’t be a strangled scream consisting of only the lust and selfishness he feels at that time, it’ll be a tender love call with very real love, and it’ll be all because of you.

“What are you waiting for?“ He asks you as you stare into space. “You’re dismissed for the night. Go on.”

“Jawohl.” You say abruptly. 

You stand, straighten up, and give a full salute along with a very overdramatic and outdated “heil” before leaving the room. At this point it’s all you can do to prevent the tears that threatened to come spilling down your face. No… He’ll never love you and that’s that. You just going to have to accept the deal, let it ride out until the Major’s war ends, and keep the fantasy to yourself for as long as it takes.


End file.
